


Destiny's Guide

by bulletincookie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletincookie/pseuds/bulletincookie
Summary: Jaskier was a strange bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	Destiny's Guide

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the geraskier reverse big bang!! I teamed up with verobatto who made some amazing art that sparked the idea for this fic!! you can see it [here!](https://verobatto-jaskierxgeralt.tumblr.com/post/642797932877365248/my-second-artwork-for-the-geraskierreversebang)

Jaskier was strange for a bard.

Sure, anyone could tell just by looking at him that he was odd, but this was a bit further than just odd. Jaskier was extremely strange, and Geralt wasn’t sure he could blame it entirely on his profession. Bards didn’t typically have a bit of magic always trailing along with them, did they? Geralt only ever got occasional whiffs of a deep magic, one honed and practiced and sharpened over years. Yet Jaskier clearly was just a bard. He whined over aches and pains, he couldn’t fight to save his life, he made decisions freely and far too quickly. They were usually the wrong decisions, too.

Sometimes Jaskier would try to convince Geralt to go a certain way, because he heard this town had just the loveliest women, or in that village you could sample the sweetest of honey. Sure the village did have very sweet honey, Geralt had to admit that was the truth at least, but then it meant he got dragged into a contract about a particularly old leshen that _really_ did not appreciate even the mere presence of a witcher.

At least he got some good honey on top of his payment.

He huffed a small laugh.

“And _what_ is so funny to you, _witcher_ , about my pain and suffering?”

“Not thinking about your pain and suffering,” Geralt replied. “Thinking about that village with the honey.”

“Oh, what kind folk they were! I do miss them so,” Jaskier said with a sigh. “Perhaps we should take a trip back sometime. I could get some honey, make those little cakes you loved so much.”

That did sound like a good idea. Jaskier was shit at cooking things out in the wild, but he had a certain skill in the kitchen with sweets. It had been a while since they had allowed themselves some luxury. And given Jaskier’s lamenting of his pain and suffering, it wouldn’t be too long before the bard asked for some softness and luxury anyways. “Alright.”

“Excellent! I can already taste the delectable nectar of the gods.”

Yet on the way there, they passed near a small town, where he was immediately stopped.

“Witcher! Have a contract for you.”

Geralt stopped Roach and sighed. “Describe it.”

Geralt came to the conclusion it was a selkiemore.

Jaskier received a letter from Cintra while he waited for Geralt to come back, an invitation to a betrothal banquet. Thankfully, he had everything he’d need for such an event, and conveniently some clothes for Geralt.

* * *

Both of their clothes were probably ruined. Small nicks, holes, and streaks of dirt covered the once fine clothing. Yet the bard didn’t complain once about them. All the better. Geralt didn’t feel much like talking as he stalked out of the castle. He didn’t even think Jaskier would follow him, not with the courtly woman he had been charming and protecting that night. Yet just as he was leaving, the bard jogged up to walk out beside him.

Geralt braced himself for complaining, about Jaskier’s interrupted performance, of the clothes being ripped and dirtied past the point of saving, but the bard stayed silent. He simply kept pace with Geralt, his face not looking distraught or woeful, but not optimistic and bright either.

Surprisingly, it had to be Geralt to break the silence, and it was only once they got back to the small village and inside their rented room.

“What happened to that woman you were with?” he asked.

“Didn’t particularly feel like being left behind,” Jaskier replied, oddly solemn. “I knew you would be charging off at first light of day with or without me. And I think the last thing you need is to be left alone, because I know you certainly will not keep up with taking care of yourself past just enough to stay alive.”

Geralt frowned. Something was off about Jaskier. More than usual, anyway. He didn’t question it, though. He knew Jaskier would bring it up himself in five…four…three…two…one—

“What you said earlier,” Jaskier spoke up, quieter. “About destiny. It not being real and all. Do you really think that?”

“Since when have I said something I don’t mean,” Geralt fired back. He _really_ did not want to have to deal with even more bullshit being spouted at him about destiny.

“I see. And if you’re wrong?” Jaskier asked. “If there is a being guiding you where you need to be?”

“Then I’ll buy you a fucking drink.”

* * *

Geralt was starting to get a little bit too used to Jaskier guiding him around, so much so that he always kept quiet when he started to come up upon a crossroads. Waiting for a voice to chirp out which way they should go. When he realized that there was no voice coming— Jaskier had went the other way for some party or other in a couple towns over— Geralt would silently curse himself and just pick a direction to go. It was much easier this way, he didn’t have to worry about which direction had a better inn for Jaskier to perform in. He could just wander wherever Roach and whispers and snippets of rumors could take him and hope there was a contract.

Yet all too soon and after far too long, he and Jaskier would somehow run into one another again. Jaskier would act like no time had passed at all, even if it had been a couple of years since they last parted, and Geralt fell into an easy rhythm with him. Keeping track of time passing was difficult enough for Geralt, he didn’t need to have a bard talk endlessly about how Geralt forgot him for three whole years. In fact, he didn’t ever bring up how long it had been, unless it was a joke. It was only when Jaskier complimented him on the “new” armor, armor he got two years ago, that he had even realized how long it had been at all. For all of his complaining, Jaskier never complained about time.

Then they would go back to a village they had been to a while back, only to find out it’s been five years since they were last there. The woman who made those heavenly breads passed away, leaving the business and its secrets to her daughter. The breads were just as delicious, though.

This was the usual life for a witcher, after living past 100 the days, weeks, months, years, they all blended together into one long stretch. But things didn’t seem to slow down with Jaskier, there was not much of an anchor in the bard to keep Geralt aware of how long time has passed. What felt like months since he had last seen Jaskier turned out to only be a few weeks. He recalled an outfit Jaskier wore the other day, only to find out that was four months ago.

“Perhaps I should have called you the white dragon, not the white wolf,” Jaskier teased. “A dragon never forgets, after all.”

“White dragons don’t exist,” Geralt replied.

“…Are you saying that white wolves exist?” Jaskier asked, and his face lit up in excitement. “Geralt! We have to go find some white wolves, immediately! I must meet your family.”

“They’re in Skellige,” Geralt replied. “That’s a long boat trip.”

“I’ll be fine!” Jaskier insisted.

He was not fine. He was seasick the entire way. But it gave Geralt an excuse to stick close with him the entire boat ride. And then even after they landed in Skellige.

“We must put our journey into meeting some white wolves on hold for three days,” Jaskier decided. “I am simply too ill, I nearly died on that boat!”

Geralt snorted. “You’re walking fine.”

“Only by the good graces of the gods my friend, otherwise I fear I may not have even made it to shore!”

“Sure.”

“Oh, but— let’s not stay in this town for the three days,” Jaskier decided. “The smell of fish and horse everywhere? Simply disgusting.”

“You think the good graces of the gods will hold out long enough for you to get somewhere else?” Geralt retorted. He already knew Jaskier was being overdramatic, but pointing it out never got old. Neither did the way Jaskier gasped and gawked as if he had never been more insulted in his life.

“Why I _never_! How could you imply such doubt in my and the gods’ capabilities!” he said with a sniff. “They will surely let me live long enough to get to a comfortable bed that doesn’t smell like fish!”

“If you insist.” They both knew at this point that Jaskier was completely fine, but Geralt agreed with him. The town _did_ smell awful, and it wouldn’t kill them to wait a little longer for better conditions.

And even on the way Jaskier’s wish was granted and he got to see white wolves. Of course, it was when he stupidly wandered off on the insistence that he could find better firewood and Geralt had to drive the wolves off. At least it gave Jaskier new ideas for a song, apparently. One that was developed while they stayed in Skellige for not three days, but almost a month.

Not many witchers came to Skellige it seemed, so there were many more contracts than usual to be had. Skellige was also known for being a magic hotspot, strong and old magic that Geralt didn’t even realize he recognized until he caught the same whiff of magic from Jaskier.

“You’re from Skellige,” he blurted out when the realization hit him, seemingly out of nowhere. Jaskier paused in his bite of meat. The tavern bustled around them, filled with raucous laughter and mugs clinking.

“Sorry, didn’t quite hear you,” Jaskier said after finally swallowing his bite. “What was that you said?”

“You have some sort of ancestor from here.”

“Erm, no. My entire family’s been from Kerack ever since ten generations back at least.”

“No, there’s something from here in you.”

Jaskier got a cheeky grin on his face. “Well it could be from that handsome fellow I slept with—”

“Not that,” Geralt interrupted. “It’s magic. Something old.”

Jaskier reeled back with a gasp and a hand on his chest. “I will have you know I am quite youthful, thank you very much!”

That made Geralt pause and think. “…How old are you?”

“Uh..” Jaskier counted on his fingers a bit. “Thirty..?”

“Why do you sound unsure about your own age?” Geralt asked with narrowed eyes.

“It’s hard to keep track of time when you don’t have a calendar and a steady home!” Jaskier defended. “I track time much better when I am back in Oxenfurt. Perhaps it is simply that you are cursed.”

“Hm.” Geralt managed a wry smile at that. Perhaps that was where the magic he caught small whiffs of came from.

* * *

He definitely was cursed in some way. Cursed with the presence of the bard, it seemed. It had been just long enough since Jaskier’s last appearance that Geralt was starting to expect him. Or perhaps that was just because he was starting to get used to Jaskier being around all the time. He found himself missing Jaskier more often than not.

He had even invited Jaskier along to Kaer Morhen for the winter, only to have the bard decline. Jaskier had a teaching job already lined up for the winter at Oxenfurt. Geralt followed him there, intending to stay the winter there instead. He didn’t realize he hadn’t asked until they arrived at the gates of Oxenfurt and Jaskier gave him a brilliant smile.

“Thank you for the escort witcher, I can find my way to my quarters from here,” he said.

Geralt frowned at that. Right, he meant to ask if he could stay with Jaskier for the winter, and never found the words. “Need a drink and a night before I can get onto the road again,” he reasoned, though it felt flimsy and weak. Jaskier still beamed.

“Not to worry! I know exactly where we can get a good drink around here.”

They ended up in a tavern off of one of the many winding side roads rather than the main road, which made Geralt raise an eyebrow. Usually when Jaskier promised the best drinks, they were in expensive areas of town. Jaskier didn’t ask the bartender to perform for the crowd either. He stayed put next to Geralt at the bar, chattering away about everything and nothing.

Geralt sighed and sat up a bit straighter to get Jaskier’s attention. “This place,” he started, his mind working to try to find the right words. “It’s out of the way.”

“Yes well, I figured you would like your privacy. I am quite well known here after all,” Jaskier replied. “Didn’t want our last drinks to be disturbed.”

“Hm.” Geralt tapped his fingers a couple times against the mug he was holding. How was he supposed to bring it up now? Maybe he didn’t have to. Jaskier could figure it out himself, eventually. He’d stay here for a couple of days, then surprise Jaskier after one of his lectures. That sounded like a good plan.

“Oh, I know that face. You’re thinking about something,” Jaskier spoke up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Come on, out with it. What has the great Geralt of Rivia in such deep pondering? Are you thinking about how much you’ll miss me while in your cold witcher keep?”

Perhaps, but Geralt would rather die than admit that. “Thinking about staying here,” he said instead. “Looks like it’ll snow tonight. It’ll make the journey dangerous.” There wasn’t a trace of snow in the air yet, but Jaskier surely didn’t know that. The bard would probably not even remember that Geralt even said something about there being snow overnight.

“Oh, you should have said so sooner!” Jaskier chirped. “I just so happen to have quarters here with a guest room. It usually goes unoccupied for most of the winter anyways, why don’t you take it?”

And that was that. Geralt found himself following Jaskier onto the university’s grounds, and into a building that almost didn’t seem right in how plain it was. Yet Jaskier clearly made up for it, he noted. The moment they stepped into Jaskier’s quarters, Geralt wasn’t surprised to see how lavishly decorated the rooms were. Deep, richly colored rugs lined the floor and various knickknacks and trinkets covered almost every flat surface that wasn’t already occupied by books.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I left the place in such a state,” Jaskier said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll clean up tomorrow. For now it’s getting late though, why don’t we turn in for the night?”

Now that he mentioned it, Geralt did start to feel the heaviness of exhaustion setting in. His limbs started to feel heavy, and he found his eyes were difficult to keep open. Jaskier led him through one of the side doors, after indicating to him which each one was. Bathing room, his room, the guest room. Even the guest room was decorated with some small trinkets and a beautiful painting of a countryside field of heather.

“Here you are. I’ll go to the shops in the morning and see about getting you some more comfortable clothing so you don’t have to wear your armor all winter,” Jaskier promised with a clap to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, nothing you wouldn’t wear. I know what you like by now.”

“Hm.” That sent an odd feeling buzzing in Geralt’s chest. He tried not to think too much about it. Instead, he focused on the even more odd traces of magic that clung to the rooms, that same old power that he couldn’t quite get enough of a grasp on to focus and figure out what exactly it was. Every time he noticed it, it was gone in the next moment.

The next morning, the town was covered in a picturesque layer of pure white snow.

* * *

Geralt almost got complacent, staying in Oxenfurt with Jaskier. The city was abuzz with just enough activity to not drown everything in a sleepy air, but not enough to make everything frantic. He took odd jobs where he could, there were people who were willing to pay lots of money to have a strong witcher haul heavy loads through the snow for them, and it helped Geralt stay in somewhat fighting form.

There were also cocky students that wanted to show how long they could hold their own against a _witcher_ , the best of the best at that. Geralt would argue he was far from the best of the best, but every time he tried to insist it wasn’t true, Jaskier would not hear a word of it and tell the students that a sparring match between them and Geralt would surely be a sight to behold.

It never was. The students were always disarmed and knocked to the floor of the sparring room in seconds. Soon enough he caught the eye of the fencing instructor. Wanting to show his students how it was really done, insisting that the witcher’s form was far too predictable, he insisted that he try a round against Geralt. Geralt let him block three blows so he didn’t wound the instructor’s pride too harshly before the instructor was knocked flat on his backside.

After that, Geralt couldn’t get any peace. He became somewhat a celebrity on the campus. Students would stop him and ask for lessons on how to improve their fighting.

And that was how Geralt found himself teaching swordsmanship classes on the side over the winter.

They were students learning the fine arts, none of them were built for fighting, but a few of them trained with such ferocity and intensity that it was admirable. Jaskier even managed to attend most of the classes. He refused to take part in the actual lessons, but he always cut in to volunteer whenever Geralt needed someone for an example. It proved to be fun, involving Jaskier in his lessons. The bard laughed every time he was told to try to attack Geralt, only to end up grappled and flipped onto the floor within moments. At least he was having fun. Until he pointed out Geralt’s use of dance in his style of swordfighting, and that perhaps the students would get a better grasp on the fluid movements if they devoted some time to teaching dancing as well.

So Jaskier taught dancing lessons alongside Geralt’s swordfighting.

“Now to be able to dip your partner, especially if they’re taller and larger than you—”

“Jaskier. They don’t need to know how to dip a partner to swing a sword.”

“It’s about the _balance_ and being able to know where your center of weight in relation to your opponent’s is, darling. Now as I was saying, you simply have to be able to plant your feet so you can sweep your partner off theirs. Like so.” And even though Geralt braced himself, he found the world tilted nearly upside down as Jaskier brought him into a low dip. Jaskier looked as cheery as ever, as if he wasn’t holding Geralt up with a remarkable amount of strength and control.

His arms didn’t even tremble from where one hand was gripping onto Geralt’s hand and the other supported his back. “This is also a great exercise for practicing balance and upper arm strength. As well as awareness, it’s good to be sure when you are at your limits and not exceed them. Having a partner you don’t want to drop makes you less likely to push yourself over those limits.” With a graceful swoop they were back upright with Geralt pressed back against Jaskier’s chest. “Make sense?”

The murmured agreement of the students nearly caught Geralt off guard. He had almost forgotten they were in the middle of a lesson, his gaze felt unfocused and his head was filled with cotton. There was that breath of old magic in the air again, but stronger this time. He nearly got a lungful of it when Jaskier pulled him up, and it was intoxicating. Something about it pulled his feet away from Jaskier. “Lesson’s over,” he grunted.

“Geralt?” Jaskier looked at him with a furrowed brow. “You’ve got another thirty minutes.”

“Ending it early today. Have somewhere to be.” He could do that. They weren’t official lessons through the university anyways, he could end them when he pleased. The students snickered, and he could hear their mutters of ‘ _yeah right_ ’ and ‘ _bet you five crowns the professor has a hickey tomorrow_ ’. His head still buzzed though, and he couldn’t muster the energy to give them a glare to remind them that he could hear them.

At least Jaskier had the sense to wait until all of the students filed out before he turned to Geralt with a light frown. “Is everything alright?”

Geralt took a deep breath, parting his lips to try to scent as much of the air as he could. Yet with all of his trying, that intoxicating scent of deep magic had disappeared once more. “There’s something.”

“Something?”

“I— keep sensing magic. Strong magic. It’s— addicting.”

“A curse?”

Geralt grunted at that. He didn’t know, and only catching small glimpses of it from time to time frustrated him. “Let’s go back.”

“Alright.” Jaskier didn’t even try to argue like he always tried, no insistence of getting a drink first or maybe visiting an old friend since it was such a lovely night. They went straight back to Jaskier’s quarters.

Jaskier prepared some tea for them, and sat close on the couch while they waited for their mugs to cool. “Do you have an idea on what it is?”

Geralt thought, poured over everything he knew about magic, chaos, everything he’s encountered with it. “No.” He had never encountered anything like it. “It’s old. That’s all I know.”

“Not even destiny?” Jaskier asked, and he teasingly nudged Geralt with his shoulder.

Geralt scoffed. “There’s no such thing as destiny.”

* * *

Geralt wasn’t surprised that Jaskier wanted to part once the snow thawed. He was sure the bard was sick of his “broodiness”, as Jaskier so kindly phrased it often. And apparently there was a skirt to chase. A “Countess de Stael”, the woman who had first inspired Jaskier to turn to poetry and music. The last thing Geralt needed was to suffer through yet another one of Jaskier’s romantic escapades. He became even more insufferable when he was in love with someone, talking even more and becoming even more oblivious to Geralt’s need for _quiet_.

Yet the curse of his bard’s presence came once again, at exactly the wrong time it seemed. The djinn was freed, he met Yennefer, and— something was off. He just wanted to keep the djinn from hurting her, but now their fates were intertwined. Whatever that meant.

Once he finally woke in the ruined remains of the house, Yennefer nowhere to be found, he set off to try to find Jaskier. He wasn’t with Roach. There weren’t even any belongings that Geralt could have used to tell which way Jaskier had gone, since the bard hadn’t been carrying anything but his clothes and a flask when he ran into Geralt.

He tried to tell himself it was for the best. He possibly would have mentioned his third wish on accident, and then he’d never hear the end of it. The bard would surely want to know every detail, would surely call it “romantic” how Geralt twisted his fate with Yennefer, a mage they had just met. How the witcher that so readily rejected the idea of there being a destiny went and asked for his to be merged with Yennefer’s upon first glance of seeing her.

Geralt cursed at that. No, Jaskier wouldn’t be any help with figuring out what to do. It was late fall anyways, the bard surely was headed for Oxenfurt for the winter, as usual. He was starting to be more and more in demand for classes. He had mentioned that spring that he might even teach a class or two over the summer.

Geralt was acutely aware then of how much time had passed with them. He wasn’t sure if he had been imagining the light wrinkles around Jaskier’s eyes or not, the deep look Jaskier took on sometimes when he was thinking particularly hard in a way that could only be brought upon with experience. The way Jaskier no longer was amazed and in awe of everything Geralt fought, and more frequently stayed behind. Of course, Geralt had gotten more experienced as well.

That made him realize with a jolt how reckless he truly had been before. He really hadn’t cared about whether he lived or died. But then he had to survive at least to get the stupid bard to the next town over, because he would surely die without Geralt’s protection. He would have definitely died to starvation at the very least, he couldn’t hunt to save his life.

Then the stupid bard insisted on staying with him. Said something about needing his muse there to sing better. Having the actual witcher there when he sang of Geralt’s exploits helped, after all.

After that Geralt found out the bard was very much _not_ stupid, and if Geralt said so or even tried to imply that Jaskier was stupid, then he would be regaled with endless tales of Jaskier’s days in university.

Oxenfurt. His stay there over the winter was…strangely relaxing. He briefly thought about returning there for another winter, a longing for the carefree nature of last year, where Jaskier taught dancing with him and students joked that they were together. A weird, cold feeling twisted his chest at that, and he shook his head. No, no he couldn’t go back there right now. His intuition told him that he wouldn’t have a place to stay there. Jaskier wouldn’t want to see him right now, and he didn’t want to see Jaskier. That’s what he told himself, anyways.

He turned the other direction and headed resolutely for Kaer Morhen.

On the trip to Kaer Morhen, Geralt realized how much more well traveled he was whenever the bard tagged along. Jaskier seemed to remember where they had been already before, or which places it had been a while since they last visited. Geralt had usually stuck to the same route around the Continent, but now he was exploring the smaller villages, the places that didn’t receive witchers often. It didn’t mean more coin usually, there was a reason that witchers didn’t bother with the hamlets and smaller settlements out of the way. There were usually entire nests that were causing the issues, and it was for very little reward. The places were too poor. Even the rewards that they amassed that was all of the coin they had was paltry at best. Geralt was better off just asking for a hot meal, a bath, and a place to rest for a couple nights as payment.

At least it meant he had more waypoints that he could stop by for a much cheaper night of rest at on the way to Kaer Morhen. It made for a bit longer of a journey, but it was much more comfortable. He silently cursed himself at that. The bard was rubbing off on him too much it seemed. Even when he wasn’t there, Geralt leaned more for comfort and an actual bed as opposed to roughing it in the woods.

* * *

Jaskier stuck with him less and less the next year, and the years after that. He found some excuse or other to go somewhere else other than where Geralt was going.

That was fine.

The path wasn’t meant to be filled with music and a bard that insisted on caring for his wounds.

* * *

Jaskier showed back up, and two days later he was approached by a stranger with two warriors from Zerrikania.

Three days later, he was alone again.

For good this time.

* * *

Geralt became more reckless again, after that. There was no need for him not to be. The child bound to him by the law of surprise was surely doing well in Cintra, under Calanthe’s eye. Jaskier, well. He was a bard. A bard that had odd traces of magic that Geralt never managed to place, but a bard nonetheless.

Everything was pushing him to go to Cintra. Ever since Jaskier had brought up his child of surprise at the lake, it weighed on his mind. He brought it up with Yennefer on accident from it circling in his head too frequently, and now she was gone too. That winter, even Eskel and Lambert had asked about his child surprise, asked if he had gone and seen how the child was doing.

Of course he hadn’t, he had made up his mind that he wasn’t going to go back to Cintra. He avoided the place at all costs. Though he couldn’t help the curiosity that was sparked upon hearing rumors, whispers of war on the horizon for Cintra. He knew they would surely be fine, Calanthe didn’t keep the title of the Lioness of Cintra for nothing, but he still felt a small push.

He wondered whether he should or not. The child was surely almost an adult now, being readied for taking over the crown of Cintra. Calanthe was getting old after all, not that it mattered to her.

So he went and checked out exactly how big the Nilfgaardian army that was descending on Cintra actually was. Just out of curiosity. The forces he saw from his vantage point, clearly in the hundreds of thousands, admittedly brought a bit of concern. Calanthe and Eist’s armies together were good. But it didn’t matter to him whether his child of surprise lived or died, really.

There hadn’t been anything bad that came about thus far from him not claiming his child. What would he even do with it anyways? He couldn’t take the boy— for surely it was a boy— to Kaer Morhen to be made into a witcher, as was custom. That was given up long ago, the knowledge and recipes for how to make a boy into a witcher lost to the ransacking.

He almost found his feet unconsciously taking him towards Cintra, so he resolutely turned around and headed back the way he came. The opposite direction, as far as he could get from the city.

Except the curse of the bard struck once more. Geralt hadn’t seen Jaskier since the dragon hunt, and he didn’t really look forward to that reunion. And now he was faced with it, with no choice but to confront it when the bard was nearly dropped in his lap. Literally.

Jaskier apparently had been just a town behind him, heading for Cintra. He had been traveling around the entirety of the room while he performed, prancing and strutting around like the peacock he always acted like. His chest had even been puffed up. Until Geralt nearly ran into him as he walked into the inn. Jaskier had stumbled a bit, took one glance at Geralt, nodded, then continued on with his set like nothing had happened.

‘ _Are you following me, you scamp?_ ’

Geralt almost missed the teasing way Jaskier would joke about how they kept running into each other. He took a seat quietly far inside of the room, a corner where he could watch the rest of the room, the stairwell, and the door, without the threat of having someone sneak up behind him.

He waited for Jaskier to finish. He knew the bard didn’t typically sing for longer than a handful of songs at a time. Yet Jaskier kept singing and dancing around the room, and when he took a break he took a break clearly at the bar, with people on either side of him. Nowhere for Geralt to slip in to try to talk to him. On purpose no doubt, Jaskier always did things deliberately.

Not a single note was sung about Geralt. Every song that Jaskier sang was one that others had written, well known songs that got the crowd singing and stomping along but ultimately held no depth to them. Despite his previous traveling around the room, Jaskier didn’t come close to Geralt’s corner. He avoided that section of the room at all costs.

After his last song, Jaskier tried to slip away. If Geralt hadn’t chosen that moment to look up, he wouldn’t have spotted Jaskier making a beeline for the stairs. He stood to follow him, though Jaskier froze when he saw Geralt standing up. The bard’s shoulders slumped and he made his way over to Geralt.

“Funny running into you here,” Jaskier said. There wasn’t any trace of the cheeriness that Geralt had grown accustomed to over the past two decades. Now he just seemed _tired_.

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked. He silently chided himself. That wasn’t how an apology started, even he knew that.

“Heading to Cintra. Heard there’s a war,” Jaskier said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Great material, you know. And since you have so graciously been shirking your duties, I thought I might take _your_ child bound by destiny to safety while Cintra fought.”

“He’ll fight alongside Calanthe, if he takes after her,” Geralt replied. He kept his voice low, with things being as tumultuous as they were he didn’t want to cause any brawls.

“You sound so sure of yourself. Yet you’re here as well.”

“I’m heading the opposite direction.”

Jaskier’s face twisted in a grimace, as if he had eaten something particularly sour. “Geralt. You need to go to Cintra.”

“No I don’t,” Geralt growled back. “I _need_ to get away from political affairs that I am not involved with.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “You are involved whether you like it or not Geralt,” he hissed. “Are you going to let a child die because of your damn pride? You know destiny exists, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked for yours to be intertwined with Yennefer’s. So stop avoiding your problems and go. To. _Cintra_.”

Any thoughts Geralt might have had of apologizing to Jaskier were thrown out the window with that. “Destiny still isn’t real. What Yen and I have, it’s not destiny. It’s a fucking djinn. I won’t hear any moral lessons from an old washed up bard that sees the deaths of innocent citizens as ‘ _material_ ’.”

A witcher was known for always having deadly accuracy with his weapons. When needed, words were no different. Jaskier reeled back, his eyes wide at the comment. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. He simply turned on his heel and walked up the stairs. Geralt heard a pronounced slam of a door and the lock being turned. That was that, then.

So he left the village and continued the opposite direction from Cintra. He could find somewhere to camp for the night anyways.

Except not even destiny, if it was real, would grant him that. Just as he was thinking of stopping to make camp, a few bandits stepped out of the tall grasses to stand in front of him. He sighed and pulled Roach to a stop.

“Move,” he commanded. He _really_ was not in the mood for this.

“Look ‘ere, boys,” one of the bandits sneered. “Got ourselves a witcher who thinks himself all high and mighty.”

Geralt heaved a sigh and got off of Roach’s back. He drew his sword. Well, nothing like ridding the world of a few bandits to help him work out his aggression. He would have preferred a kikimora, but these would do.

Except one of them gave a sharp whistle, and several others stepped out around him. Even more stood up, revealing themselves from where they were hidden in the grass. Now that was just excessive.

“Last chance, witcher,” the bandit threatened with a grin full of blackened gums and a few missing teeth. Geralt could smell the man’s breath from where he was standing several paces away. “Hand over your things, or we’ll take them from your dead body.”

Geralt did not want to deal with this right now, but he also did not want to give up all of his belongings. Winter was coming closer, he needed everything he had to make the trip to Kaer Morhen. As a reply he raised his sword, and a knife came sailing through the air at him. He deflected it and took off the nearest bandit’s head in one smooth motion.

Roach reared and whinnied as the bandits all descended upon him. Geralt spared a brief thought to wonder if he should have taken a night in the inn anyways, even if it meant being in the same building as a pissed off Jaskier. He could handle a lot of bandits normally, but this was an even larger than normal band of them, and they were all trying to pile on him together. They never seemed to stop. For every one that Geralt kicked back or sliced, two more descended upon him. He could only deflect so many blows in such a short amount of time.

Something blunt smacked hard over his head and sent him staggering. A second hit, and he was on the ground. His wrist was stepped on to force him to release his sword, and the sword was kicked away. Geralt hissed and tried to focus, to see through the black spots that nearly took over his vision.

“Heard witchers sell monster parts for money,” a voice snickered. “Reckon we’ll get anything for this monster’s parts?”

“Not enough,” another voice came. “Maybe alive though.”

“Not worth the trouble. Let’s just kill him and be done with it.”

“Fine with me.”

His vision focused just in time to see a sword above him, but his limbs wouldn’t move, his wrist was still being crushed. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the stab—

The scent of magic filled the air. A deep, old magic that Geralt had never quite gotten enough of a scent on to detect it now filled his lungs. A bright flash lit up behind his eyelids, and the screams of the bandits followed. A few bloody squelches, the crackle of magic around him, that scent of old magic becoming almost unbearably strong and making Geralt’s head spin, and then there was silence. Geralt squinted his eyes open, not sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what he was faced with.

Jaskier stood, or rather _floated_ , in the air with his eyes closed and his arms spread. Two large, brilliant wings were spread out behind him, a golden glow enveloping him. The bodies of the bandits around him lay burnt to a crisp, only ash and charcoal left on the road.

Jaskier’s eyes opened, his eyes a brilliant blue that stood out like gemstones against the golden haze of magic. He floated down until his bare feet landed on the ground so delicately, as if he wasn’t stepping on the bodies of men he scorched to pieces.

“Ready to listen to me yet, witcher?” Jaskier asked, leaning over Geralt.

Geralt struggled for words. He was filled with an odd sense of happiness and awe at seeing Jaskier, but more than that he was confused.

Jaskier seemed to sense the endless questions running through his head. He grinned and poked Geralt’s nose, looking so much like the bard that Geralt had known for over twenty years. “I’ll be back in my room. Third door on the left. Come back and find me.” Just like that, he disappeared. But then reappeared again a moment later. “Don’t go the other way or I’ll drag you back to the inn myself!” he said, his voice cheery as ever despite the underlying threat. He disappeared again. Geralt waited with bated breath, but Jaskier didn’t come back.

Back to the inn, then.

He walked in almost a daze as he led Roach back the way he went, back to the inn. He stabled her for the night and took his things. His head felt like it was filled with fog. Just what _was_ that? Did that even happen? Was he even awake? Maybe he was dreaming. He stumbled up the stairs and counted to the third door on the left. Jaskier did say the third door on the left, didn’t he? It wasn’t that long ago, but Geralt wasn’t sure.

Thankfully, the bard— was he a bard?— must have heard him, because the door opened and Jaskier’s head poked out. “Come inside already, you’re waking up everyone else with your stomping about!”

Geralt had readied himself. He had practiced his questions over and over on the way back here. But he still couldn’t find his words. He stepped into the room and set his things down on the floor next to the doorway, perhaps a bit harder than he meant to.

“So.” Jaskier closed the door and crossed his arms. “What do you want to ask first?”

“What the hell was that?” Geralt blurted out. He finally found his words, and it had to be that. He took a deep breath and hissed it out. “What are you?”

“Getting right to the point I see,” Jaskier mused. He walked over to the small table in the corner and waved his hand. A bottle of wine and two glasses appeared. He uncorked the bottle and filled the two glasses, taking his time clearly. Geralt allowed him to stall, if only so he could get his own thoughts together too.

Jaskier handed him a glass and took a sip of his own wine before taking a breath. “So. To put it simply, I’m an agent of destiny. I work to enact her plans, and make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

“Is that where you went all the time?”

“No, I just needed an excuse to not be around you so often. You’d get suspicious if your bard followed you around with no other priorities, wouldn’t you?”

That was true. Geralt was already getting suspicious of Jaskier before that. “Destiny doesn’t exist.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a very long sigh, one weighed down with weariness. “I am, as some have put it, the embodiment of proof that destiny exists. Yet you still deny it.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do then?”

“Go to Cintra,” Jaskier instructed. He took a long sip of his wine. “Trust me on this. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

The realization hit Geralt like a bolt of lightning. “You really were the cause of all of this shit.”

“In a roundabout way, I suppose you can blame me for everything, yes,” Jaskier replied with a grimace. “Well, most of it. There were some parts that weren’t supposed to happen.”

“What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

Jaskier pursed his lips and swirled the wine in his glass. “….Wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”

Geralt’s throat closed up. Something in his chest cried out in joy at that, but he stamped it down just as quickly. “What?”

“I— used Oxenfurt as an excuse to let you have your space. Take your destiny into your own hands for the winter. It wouldn’t make any difference, after all.” Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed and took another long drink. “But then you came with me. I was already becoming fond of you then, but that sealed it. I was truly and utterly fucked.”

Geralt slowly put the pieces together in his head. So that was the magic that he always smelled on Jaskier. But..Jaskier didn’t say he was still in love with Geralt. Who would, after what Geralt said and did? So he decided to change the topic. “Is destiny rooted in Skellige?” he asked. He sat down next to Jaskier. “Skellige felt like your magic did. Old. Deep.”

“No, that is simply because Skellige trusts in destiny more often. Thus the..veil, I suppose you can call it, is thinner there,” Jaskier explained with a small wave of his hand. “They are all very superstitious still, they believe in any small omen or sign that comes their way.” He smiled. “It was quite funny that you thought it meant I was from Skellige, though.”

“But you’re not from Kerack, either.”

“No. That was something else I came up with.”

“I see.” Geralt sighed and stared down at his wine glass. The silence seemed to stretch between them forever. Finally he took a breath and gathered the courage to speak again. “Can I see it again?” he asked. “How you looked when you killed those bandits.”

Jaskier turned sheepish. “I’m, well…not really supposed to show anyone that form.”

“You also said you’re not supposed to fall in love with me,” Geralt pointed out. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath at that.

“That I did,” Jaskier mumbled. He closed his eyes and sighed, his shoulders relaxing. At first Geralt didn’t think Jaskier would do it, but a faint glow started to form around him, and Geralt finally noticed the halo that slowly burned to life behind Jaskier’s head. With a rush, Jaskier’s wings folded out behind him and stretched before relaxing with the rest of Jaskier’s body. Jaskier blinked his eyes open and gave a small smile. “Well, there you have it.”

“Hm.” Geralt reached up and ran his fingers along the pristine feathers. They were softer than any down feathers he had felt before. He ran his fingers along the top, and Jaskier drew his wings inward, making Geralt snap back.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Jaskier said with a small laugh. “That, ah— tickles.” He spread his wings out again. “Continue.”

Geralt avoided the tops and contented himself with simply burying his hands in the mass of feathers and marveling at the softness. “Poetic,” he muttered.

Jaskier gave a questioning hum. “What is?”

“Hands of a killer, stained with blood, touching something pure like this.”

“Bah, I’ve killed too. Killed all of those bandits after all.”

“Mm.” Geralt stroked his fingers over Jaskier’s feathers, smoothing them down and arranging them just so.

“Sorry if I put you in an odd place,” Jaskier said, his head turned away from Geralt. “With the love confession and all.”

“It’s in the past,” Geralt grunted.

“No it isn’t.”

“You said it was at Oxenfurt.”

“I never said it ended when we left Oxenfurt.”

That made Geralt pause from where his hands were buried completely in the soft feathers. “What are you saying?”

Jaskier turned his head back towards Geralt to gawk at him. “What am I— Geralt, do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Spell what out?” Geralt’s brow furrowed. What was it with bards and being unable to just say what they meant?

Before he could ponder on it further, Jaskier squished his cheeks between his hands. “Geralt. I have been hopelessly, _embarrassingly_ , in love with you since I first got assigned to you. Back when we met at Posada. That winter we spent at Oxenfurt only sealed it. It was the best time I’ve had since I can remember.” Jaskier let go of him and scooted away on the bed. “But I know you don’t feel the same way, even without the djinn magic keeping you tied to Yennefer. Honestly, what were you thinking, tying your fate to hers? Do you know how much extra work that gave me, trying to untangle that whole—!” He cut himself off with a cry of surprise when Geralt yanked him onto his lap. Jaskier’s wings were askew, wrapped partially around them both.

Jaskier’s shoulders hunched, and he clenched his jaw. “Alright,” he sighed, “get it out. Go ahead and mock me, tell me how stupid it was for an angel of destiny to fall in love with a witcher who rejected the very notion of destiny.”

“You’re in love with me,” Geralt repeated softly, slowly. Somehow, the words didn’t feel any more real coming from his lips.

“I’ve said that about five times now, yes.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darted around, focusing on everything and nothing at the same time while he tried to muster up the thoughts. He thought back to every time Jaskier pointed out where to go on the path, every time he had paused and felt slightly lost when the bard supposedly had somewhere else to be. The ache that followed him permanently since the dragon hunt, of knowing he was alone. The warmth, the completeness he felt when he spent the winter in Oxenfurt, of Jaskier dancing with him to teach the students footwork, and even insisting on dancing lessons with Geralt well after all of the students had left. Being there, spending the entire winter with Jaskier, filled him with a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. He had equated it to only taking a vacation, but now it all made sense.

“Geralt?” Jaskier patted his cheek. “You don’t need to—”

“I’m in love with you too,” Geralt finally whispered, his gaze meeting Jaskier’s. It was like the final piece of the puzzle slipping into place. Jaskier stared at him wide-eyed, looking just as shocked as Geralt felt.

“You..really mean that?” the angel whispered, shaky hands slipping up to grasp at Geralt’s shoulders. He searched Geralt’s face for a brief moment, his eyes watering. “ _Oh_ , Geralt.”

Geralt caught him as he tumbled forward, their lips pressed in a feverish kiss. It was a promise, an oath, an apology, a confession. Geralt gripped onto Jaskier’s waist to keep them both steady, to try to ground himself in some way as Jaskier’s lips met his again and again.

“In the morning,” Jaskier gasped, and was cut off by Geralt pulling him in for another kiss. “We need— mmh, we need to go to Cintra.”

“It can wait until morning. Too dark to travel now.”

That earned Geralt another bruising kiss.

“Well, who am I to argue?” Jaskier breathed, a small laugh escaping him.

At first light of dawn he’d have to acknowledge destiny in relation to the rest of the world again, go to Cintra like Jaskier needed him to do. For now, he was content to simply acknowledge destiny for bringing Jaskier to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!


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